In Brightest Day, In Darkest Night...
A Gabriel Knight Mystery
Chapter 7
"Behold the reptile with the stinging tail,
That mountains hold not, nor strong walls avail
To bar, nor any weapons wound. Behold
Him who diseases all the world with guile."
-- Dante
.......................
"We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow...
...Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep..."
-- John McCrae.
******************************
Shadows whirled about him, their malicious whispers spearing his soul with wanton darts of pain. Torches guttered in their holders on the bloody dungeon walls. Around him lay his dead and dying, their broken bodies mute testimonials to the hours and months of torture endured within these smothering walls. He sank to his knees, bowed down by the weight of his sorrow. All around him the sound of inhuman laughter mocked his anguish.
A familiar body lay before him, limbs asprawl in death, the lovely dark eyes staring at him without recognition, empty of everything, even pain. He took a cold hand gently in his, feeling his heart tearing with the agony of loss and guilt. Grace...the strangled cry choking him, he forgot to breathe, welcoming the pain of airlessness, as if joining her in death would ease his torment.
A voice roused him. Wake up, Gabriel. These are shadows; phantoms without substance. They cannot hurt you unless you let them. Wake up, Gabriel. Wake up to the Light...
******************************
*Monday, 23 June*
When he sat up, he knew it was morning. Sunlight streamed through the window and over the bed, but no warmth could dispel the chill in his heart. He threw his clothes on carelessly, eager to get into action and forget the visions that disturbed him.
He had sat up till very late the previous night with Father Jean Gerard and Grace, the three of them thinking and planning, arguing and agreeing: all with one single purpose. To stop the inevitable murder that would otherwise occur on St.John's Eve. The last step in the complex ritual that would awaken the Great Serpent and let him roam the waking world, as he had centuries ago in the Age of Heroes...
When Gabriel walked into the kitchen, it was empty. The scent of freshly toasted bread and piping hot coffee alerted him to recent occupation. Gratefully pouring himself a cup, he saw a note lying on the table. Picking it up, he discovered that Grace and Father Jean had risen long before him (as usual) and left the farm house, to perform the tasks allotted to them under the plan. Methodical as ever, Grace had left him a checklist. Gabriel smiled wryly, and put the note in his pocket.
The phone rang in the living room. He answered it, glancing at his watch to see that it was nearly nine in the morning. Father Jean's voice greeted him at the other end.
"Gabriel, I'm calling from Commissaire Dernaud's office. I'm afraid I have some disappointing news. Laroche was not in his apartment when we went there. The concierge said that he left last night, saying that he would not be home for the next few days. Hold on, Jean Claud wants to speak with you," he said quickly, before Gabriel could respond.
The Commissaire was brisk and businesslike. "Mr. Knight, my men and I searched Vladimir Tornenkov's apartment again. There's no trace of his diary. I also looked through Laroche's apartment. Nothing there, either. There is a safe in the library, however, which we cannot access. There appears to be a sonic lock on it."
"A sonic lock? You mean, it responds only to a particular sound or voice, or whatever?"
"Yes, that's it. I've communicated with the Paris police. Laroche will be detained for questioning if he arrives at his flat there; unfortunately, he does not appear to have done so. The police are looking out for him."
"Great. He's missing, and tonight is St.John's Eve!" Gabriel said, almost to himself. "Listen, Commissaire, what about his friends? Nicole Barrat, for instance?"
"We are keeping a watch on them as well, just in case he tries to contact any of them. Ms.Barrat is staying at a hotel here in Gisors."
I know, Gabriel added silently to himself. Wonder how Grace is doing?
******************************
Grace was sitting at a table in the Hotel de Ville's only restaurant, covertly watching Nicole Barrat having a leisurely breakfast. The blond dancer was talking animatedly to her companion, a thin fair man with glasses. She rose to her feet, still talking.
"Tant pis, Alain," she tossed over her shoulder, walking away.
Grace hardly had time to think about an inconspicuous way of settling her bill and following her, when her intended target made a right angled turn to walk directly towards Grace herself!
"Ms.Grace Nakimura, I believe?" The question was innocuous enough, but the look that accompanied it was filled with mocking amusement.
Grace, inwardly infuriated, pasted a look of calm inquiry on her face. I will not let myself be wrong-footed by this woman! she told herself fiercely.
"Yes...I'm sorry. Have we met?" It sounded perfect, with just the right blend of politeness and puzzled enquiry.
"Oh no, not in person. Though I've heard so much about you, I feel I already know you. I'm Nicole Barrat. I had dinner with Gabriel on Friday."
"Yes, of course. How nice to meet you." When you doped his wine and nearly got him killed, you b*tch! Grace thought, seething.
"It was a... memorable evening," the blond woman continued. "Such a charming man."
"Yes, he is, isn't he," Grace agreed pleasantly. What the h*ll are you trying to lead up to?
"I believe you met Lucien earlier that day, too. He mentioned you to me later; he was very impressed with you, you know."
"Was he? We barely met, and there were so many people at the service," Grace said sweetly.
"Nevertheless, Lucien certainly remembered you most particularly. He described you... oh, most completely", Nicole Barrat rejoined, in saccharine tones. "He's not easily impressed."
Grace shrugged. "That's very flattering. He's a fascinating man."
"I wonder, Ms.Nakimura, would you like to join us this evening for an informal dinner party? Just a few select friends, you know. I assure you, you wouldn't be bored," the dancer invited, smoothly.
I'm sure! Grace thought angrily. I'll bet Vladimir Tornenkov wasn't bored either. "Oh, thank you, that's very kind, but I'm afraid I have other plans," she said aloud, as courteously as she could manage. "Perhaps some other time?"
"Oh dear, Lucien will be disappointed. He particularly wanted you to be there. Well, if you change your mind, please call me. I'll be at the Theatre Broussard all day, rehearsing," Nicole Barrat urged, giving Grace a card. "And do bring Gabriel as well."
The tall blond woman rejoined her bespectacled companion, and resumed her breakfast. A short while later, they both rose to leave. As discreetly as possible, Grace followed.
The flamboyant red sports car pulled up in front of the Broussard Theater, and both occupants went inside through a side door. A safe distance away, Grace parked her car just out of sight, got out and strolled casually into the lobby. She could her the sound of instruments being tuned inside the hall. A small billboard stood just outside the main door. Grace walked over to read it.
"Oh, rehearsals for the modern ballet programme next week. Hmm... L'Opera-Ballet de Paris...featuring Nicole Barrat. Orchestra led by Alain Meunier. No mention of Laroche, though." A further study showed that the rehearsals were due to last all day. A furtive look through the hall doors showed her that Lucien Laroche was not among those present, on stage, or off.
Walking back into the lobby, she noticed what could only be a pair of policemen in plain clothes trying to look as if they belonged there. "Looks like Dernaud had the same idea we did," Grace said to herself. "OK, if Laroche shows up here, they'll get him. I'd better drop by the farmhouse."
******************************
Gabriel walked into the hallway of the building that housed the apartments of Lucien Laroche and his late neighbour, Vladimir Tornenkov. The concierge looked up with a wary expression as he recognised the visitor.
"Bonjour, Mr.Knight."
"Uh, Bonjour. Listen, did Commissaire Dernaud call you...?"
"...about letting you into M.Tornenkov's apartment, oui, he did. Would you like to see it now?"
"Yeah, sure. Oh, and maybe I could meet Mr. Laroche while I'm here?"
"I'm afraid Monsieur Laroche is not in, sir. He will not be back for several days. As I informed the Commissaire earlier this morning," he added with a disapproving expression.
"The Commissssaire was here again?" Gabriel asked innocently, as if he hadn't known.
"He was, Monsieur. He insisted on searching Monsieur Laroche's apartment! Imagine! As if Monsieur Laroche were a criminal!"
"Imagine that," Gabriel said commiseratingly, faking a shocked expression. "What was he looking for?"
"I wouldn't know, Monsieur," the concierge said stiffly. "If you will follow me, please?" he said, leading the way to the elevator.
Gabriel looked around the living room of Vladimir Tornenkov's apartment. It was scrupulously neat and furnished in a spare, modernistic style. Abstract art in pastels adorned the walls. In dimension, the house was a replica of Laroche's next door apartment. But in everything else, they were worlds apart. Gabriel walked through into the main bedroom, and on to the balcony beyond. He threw a speculative gaze across to the balcony of the next flat, a few scanty feet away.
Looking down at the ground, a good three stories below, he swallowed nervously. I hate it when I get these ideas! he told himself. Then, taking a deep breath, he climbed over the railing, and stood precariously balanced on the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing with one hand for balance. He jumped! and made it safely to the railing on the other side. With a sigh of relief, he clambered into the balcony and walked upto the french windows leading to the master bedroom of Laroche's apartment.
Slipping a credit card into the narrow gap between the doors, he was rewarded with a soft click as the lock opened. Whew! he thought. Glad I watch all those movies. Glancing down at the plastic card in his hand he grinned to himself. Never leave home without it!
He walked straight through into the library. Coming face to face with the safe, he frowned thoughtfully. So the lock only responds to particular sounds, huh? Like, maybe, a particular piece of music? He took out the tape of his conversation with Claire Desmoulins at her apartment. Rewinding it carefully, he played back the rendering of 'Danse Macabre' that he had heard there.
No response. Hmm. What now? He looked around the room. Noticing the old gramophone in the corner, he walked over to it. Seems to be in perfect working order, he thought, sliding a speculative hand over the polished wooden casing. The cabinet right next to the old fashioned machine held old gramophone records. Gabriel looked through the titles.
"Vivaldi, Bach, Schubert, Debussy, Paganini... waittaminit, what's this?"
He pulled out a record in a plain brown sleeve. It was simply marked '1944. Danse Macabre.' He pulled out the record and placed it on the gramophone turntable.
"Man, 78 rpm! This is old stuff!"
He turned it on, after making sure the door to the room was tightly shut. He remembered what Laroche had said about the room being sound-proofed. The library was suddenly filled with eerie music.
It was a violin solo, and Gabriel recognised the tune. Danse Macabre. And it truly did sound like the Dance of the Dead, as the sinister notes filled the room. Gabriel felt the hair rising on his nape as the music gained in intensity. Only once before had he ever heard this piece played with such disturbing passion. He felt the room grow uncomfortably claustrophobic as the sounds seemed to press down on him almost physically. He raised his hands to block his ears as the music rose to a wailing climax, and saw the safe door spring open abruptly. The music died, leaving an echoing silence in its wake.
He walked to the now open safe and took a look. It contained only three objects. A diary, an old leather case, and a black porcelain urn. He reached for the diary first, and opened the fly leaf to find the name 'Vladimir Tornenkov' neatly inscribed on the upper right corner. Bingo! So Laroche had removed the diary of his erstwhile partner!
To Gabriel's disappointment, the diary was in French, which he didn't understand. The last entry was dated 14 June.
When he carefully opened the leather case, he discovered sheets of old, yellowing paper. They were covered with archaic looking writing in a language he didn't understand. It looked like Latin. "What is this?" Gabriel wondered, fingering the stained sheets. Laroche had gone to a lot of trouble to preserve these papers. Maybe Grace would be able to make sense of them.
Then, he reached in and took out the urn. He felt an uneasy tingle pass up his arm as he touched it. "Looks like one of those things people keep the ashes of their dear departed in," he said, with a grimace of distaste. "One thing's for sure, I'm not opening this!"
Five minutes later, he was back in the living room of Tornenkov's apartment, both the diary and urn in his possession. He walked calmly downstairs, and thanked the concierge briefly.
Sitting in the car, he debated whether to contact Dernaud immediately with the diary. No, that would entail an explanation of how he managed to enter Laroche's apartment and open his safe. Better take it back to the farmhouse first.
Gabriel noticed Father Jean's car parked in the driveway of the St.Clair farmhouse. That meant Grace was back! He ran into the house, calling her name.
"Gracie! I found it! I found the diary..." he broke off in shock as he entered the living room. It was a shambles, as if vandals had invaded it and wreaked deliberate havoc on the contents. The paintings from the walls lay slashed and torn on the ground, and pieces of broken furniture lay everywhere. With a sudden foreboding, he rushed into the kitchen. On the floor, his head bleeding sluggishly from an ugly wound on his temple, Father Jean Gerard lay sprawled limply on the floor.
"Father!" Gabriel touched the old man's head gently, horrified by the amount of blood that was pooling slowly on the floor. "Please God, don't let him be dead!"
A weak groan reassured him on that point. "Father! What happened?" Gabriel asked gently.
"Grace..." the old man whispered in a weak voice. "He took Grace..." he managed, before subsiding again, unconscious.
Gabriel's heart stood utterly still.
******************************
The sound of ambulance sirens wailing died slowly into the distance, and Gabriel returned to the kitchen, sitting down to face Commissaire Jean Claud Dernaud, who looked nearly as white and strained as he felt himself.
After a silence that stretched the empty seconds into minutes, Gabriel proffered a scrap of paper to the young policeman.
"I found this," he said, in a dull voice.
Dernaud accepted and read the note.
"Mr. Gabriel Knight is invited to a select party in the dungeons of the Chateau de Gisors at 11:30 tonight. If he comes alone, he will meet the charming Ms.Grace Nakimura there, alive. If not, he will meet what remains of her."
"Merde!" the Frenchman swore, with feeling. "What does he want you for?"
Gabriel didn't answer directly, but passed across Vladimir Tornenkov's diary.
Dernaud gave him a sharp look and then opened it. "Where did you find this?"
"In Laroche's safe." Gabriel no longer cared what the Commissaire would think of his illegally entering the musician's apartment.
Surprisingly, Dernaud did not question him on the subject, merely giving him a shrewd look from those piercing blue eyes. He read in silence, and finally put the diary down on the table.
"This indicates that your theory about Laroche is correct," he said. "Tornenkov wrote down his growing suspicions of his partner being involved in drug trafficking. The entry for 22 May reads, 'There is something strange going on. Capelli was here again to see Lucien. His manner was extraordinary, humble and yet exalted at the same time. How does Lucien put up with the fellow? They have nothing in common.'"
"Then, on 4 June, 'Alain is talking wildly. He is so strung up with drugs and alcohol that he is hardly sane these days. I feel like an outsider among my own friends. What is happening to us? It is as though some freakish mental illness is spreading through the group. The only one who seems normal is Lucien. He remains uncannily calm and untouched by this weird behaviour.'"
He paused and turned some more pages. "Finally, on 14 June, he wrote, 'I can no longer avoid the truth. What happened to that odious Lemaitre? He became inconvenient, and he has been killed. This evil cannot be allowed to continue. How can I believe this of my friend, my dearest friend? God help me! What shall I do? I shall confront Lucien tonight.'"
Gabriel nodded, as if the dead pianist's words only confirmed his own thoughts.
Dernaud continued. "So Laroche realised you knew too much, is that it? Is that why he is after you now?"
"I guess so," Gabriel replied, though he knew the real reason went beyond such a simple explanation.
"I'm not going to let him kill you, too," Dernaud said flatly. "I'm going to get the bastard this time."
"Yeah. But I've got to go alone to the Chateau tonight." He held up a hand to prevent Dernaud's angry denial. "I'm not suicidal, OK? I've got a couple of ideas. But if you go charging in there with your men, you'll get Grace killed."
He began to explain. After a few sharp questions, Dernaud accepted the idea, though with obvious reluctance.
"Just trust me, OK? I know what I'm doing," Gabriel said, with more confidence than he felt.
"I hope so, Mr. Knight," Dernaud said darkly. "For all our sakes."
******************************
Gabriel knelt before the simple altar in the St.Clair chapel, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting impulses. "Help me!" he prayed, to whatever God would hear him.
He placed the the St.Clair Seal, the Ritter Talisman, and the golden hilt, which was all that remained of the great sword Ascalon, on the altar. Bowing his head, he recited aloud the oath of the Schattenjagers, the solemn vow that he had first made in the chapel at Schloss Ritter.
"St. George, patron of the light,
who hunts the shadows of the night...
upon my blood, I call thee now,
purify me, for I avow...
to set my feet upon thy road;
thy sword, I take up for mine own."
Never before had he said the words with so much feeling, never before had he understood the whole weight of the pledge, as he did now. Into the silent chapel flooded a shaft of brilliant light. It fell across the altar, setting the objects on it ablaze in incandescent glory.
His heart filled with awe, Gabriel carefully and reverently picked up the artifacts from the altar. First his own Talisman, then the Seal, and finally, the hilt of St.George's sword.
Schattenjager. Champion of Light. He squared his shoulders and walked out to face his destiny.
******************************
Gabriel found the great door of the Chateau open, and walked into the entrance hall. He made a silent check to ensure that the homing device he carried was working. It would transmit a clear signal for Commissaire Dernaud and his men to follow. But for now, Gabriel would walk alone into the enemy's lair.
He retraced the path he had walked once before, with Michael and Grace on a sunny morning a week ago. Down the stairs into the ominous dungeons, which had held the Templars captive at the instance of King Phillippe of France. The same dungeons that Gabriel had seen in his dreams, where so many Templars had been tortured and killed. He looked around, but the cells were empty and silent.
"Well? I'm here," he said aloud. It was nearly 11:30, but no one appeared to meet him. He walked up and down, wondering what he was supposed to do. Then a fragment of memory came back to him. Walking down to the end of the narrow passage, he was startled when a section of wall rumbled open. It was a hidden doorway. He hesitated for a moment, inconspicuously dropping a card from his wallet, and then stepped inside. The door thudded shut behind him.
******************************
"Commissaire, we lost the signal!" The young policeman said urgently to his superior.
"What!" Dernaud moved around to see that the red blip showing Gabriel's position had vanished from the monitor. He swore fervently.
"What the hell happened?"
"I don't know, sir!"
The Commissaire drew a deep breath. "We're going in after him. Come on."
******************************
It was dark, and Gabriel dimly saw a light flickering ahead of him. He followed it, and it moved before him. After a long walk through what looked like a series of abandoned mineshafts, he emerged into a huge cavern. It looked horrifyingly familiar. Hooded and robed figures ringed the travesty of an altar in the middle. A towering mirror hung at the very center of the room, suspended from the high roof by chains of massive iron. Below it was a great pit, the focus of the group's attention.
"Welcome, Shadowhunter," the tallest of the robed figures said, stepping forward. Pushing back his hood, the speaker revealed his handsome, red-maned head. Lucien Laroche. "Now that you are here, we can begin the festivities."
"Laroche. I knew it had to be you."
"Very clever of you, Mr.Knight. I must say I admire your persistence and ingenuity. I fear I had underestimated you. Your knowledge comes too late, however. One more sacrifice, and my master will be free to walk this world."
"You murdered Capelli. And Lemaitre, and the two tourists, and the policeman last night," Gabriel stated positively.
"I sacrificed them", Laroche corrected, "to my master's cause."
"What about Tornenkov? Some best friend you turned out to be. And you claimed to care about him," Gabriel sneered.
Something moved behind the beautiful mask of a face. Was it pain? "I did care about him! I loved him as much as it is in me to love any man. But Vladimir...he didn't understand. He wanted to betray... he was going to betray me."
"Yeah, right." Gabriel said. "Where's Grace?" he asked tightly.
"Why, right here, of course," the leader of the Serpent Cult said, gesturing. A hooded cultist pulled her into view from behind the altar. Gabriel swallowed as he took in the sight of Grace, gagged and bound. She was conscious, her eyes blazing a mixture of fear and rage. At another gesture from Laroche, her gag was undone.
"Gabriel! You came for me!" she exclaimed, relief and fear and a thousand other emotions warring in her voice.
"I'll always come for you, Gracie," he told her quietly. For a brief moment, they might have been all alone, as they both recognised the simple, unalterable truth of his words.
Then he turned to Laroche. "It's me you want. Let her go."
"Not so fast, Mr.Knight," the violinist said silkily. "Why don't you step over here first?"
"No, I have a better idea," Gabriel said. He pulled the black porcelain urn that he had found in Laroche's safe into view, and held it up. "Let Grace go, right now, or I'll drop this."
With a snarl of fury, Laroche took a convulsive step forward, long knife raised threateningly.
"Uh,uh," Gabriel warned. "One more step, and I'll break it. Think of what'll happen to you then, Laroche."
Laroche hesitated, lowering his arm. A strange expression on his face, he whispered, "Perhaps this time, I..." Then a convulsive shudder shook him, and a shriek of inhuman rage escaped his lips.
"Noooo!" The handsome features twisted, and began to change. The deep voice changed to a discordant hiss of fury. The other cultists recoiled in fear as a bloodcurdling howl filled the room. Obviously, they had never before encountered the true face of the creature that led them. In seconds, the human face of Laroche was gone, leaving the gruesome mask of the demon that possessed him in its place. "I will destroy you, mortal!"
"Forget it, Iblis," Gabriel said firmly. "Let her go, or you're history."
With a hiss of frustrated temper, the transformed Laroche cut the ropes that bound Grace's hands and legs. She ran forward to Gabriel's side. He pushed her behind him. "You can forget your sacrifice, pal," he said ironically, backing slowly away with the urn still in his hand.
"No!" the demoniac creature howled. "I will not be stopped now!" With a swift movement, it reached out and seized one of the hooded cult members who cowered by the altar. With a lightning stroke of its knife, it slit the helpless human's throat, letting the blood fountain up onto the altar. The body, already dead, fell limply to the ground, hood falling back to reveal the beautiful face of Nicole Barrat. Her eyes, wide open, still reflected the horrified disbelief and pain of that last terrible instant of realisation, as the thing she had called her lover cut the life from her.
Gabriel and Grace froze in appalled revulsion as the bestial laughter of Iblis reverberated through the room.
"It is done! My master, it is done!"
Gabriel dropped the urn. It seemed to fall in slow motion, breaking musically against the stone floor, a thousand pieces of fine porcelain spraying up and out, crumbling into fine black dust.
Iblis screamed, a shriek of infernal agony that slowly died into a thin wail of despair, as he shrank and collapsed onto the ground. The gargoyle-like features untwisted into humanity. The change did not stop there. At first, the familiar face of the handsome young violinist appeared. Then it seemed to collapse, the crepy wrinkles of age appearing as the skin sagged. The glorious mane of red hair faded into white. The muscular body folded into gauntness, the fragile limbs unable to hold themselves up and sinking weakly down. This was an old, old, man. The only recognisable part that remained of Lucien Laroche were the beautiful glass green eyes that were now filled with anguish.
"Gabriel, look!" Grace whispered.
He glanced up to see that he could no longer see himself in the great mirror. It had gone black, as if absorbing all the light from the room, instead of reflecting it. Dark shapes moved and writhed sinuously in the blackness, like the coils of a great snake.
"Grace, get out of here," Gabriel growled urgently. A terrible fear was rising in him, a fear born of recognition.
"I won't leave you!' she refused, though he could feel her trembling.
A dense black smoke poured from the mirror onto the altar, seeming to feed on the blood that soaked it. Before the horrified eyes of the spectators, the smoke rose into a man shaped column and solidified.
He was breathtaking. Dressed all in black, never had any human in the history of the world been so exquisitely perfect, so stunningly beautiful. His voice, when he spoke, was music in words.
"Ah, at last! I have been gone too long."
He was grace and power, beauty and strength in human form. He was seduction personified. He was the very essence of evil.
Gabriel fought to control the primal fear that surged up in him.
"Who are you?" he asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.
"Who am I?" the beautiful man laughed. "You know me, surely." His features flowed like oil, coalescing and changing. There were glimpses of familiar faces in the chaos: the Dragon, Dr.John, Von Glower, Tetelo, a thousand anonymous others, even, terrifyingly, Gabriel's own, before the features settled again into the sculpted perfection of the beginning.
"I have so many names. Does it matter? Men have called me Apophis, Samael, Iblis, Beelzebub... You may call me Samael, Gabriel Knight." He threw him a humorous look. "Oh, yes, I know you. I know you very well. As I know the one who stands by your side. Grace. A lovely name, for a lovely woman." His eyes wandered warmly over her as he spoke.
Gabriel quickly pulled the Seal from his pocket and thrust it into Grace's hand.
"You can't have her!"
Again, the amused laugh. "Don't be silly. Of course I can. Surely you don't imagine that little toy can protect you from me?" He gestured idly, and Grace cried out. She was drawn helplessly forward, to fall on her hands and knees at Samael's feet. She struggled upright and tried to back away, but another wave of his hand froze her in place. Samael drew a caressing finger idly down her cheek.
"Exquisite. Lucien, I must commend you on your taste," he smiled, turning to his debilitated servant who lay hopelessly on the ground before him. "Flawless, as usual."
Laroche raised a pleading hand toward his master, who ignored him with casual cruelty.
Sweat poured down Gabriel's terrified face. He was nearly at the end of his tether. As Samael descended from the altar and began to walk toward him, Gabriel pulled the hilt of Ascalon out and brandished it in a hopeless gesture of defiance.
Samael halted. Then he looked Gabriel up and down with a sort of amused affection. "What do you imagine you can achieve with that? You are not St.George, or even his heir."
"Maybe not. But I'm a Schattenjager, and I swore to fight for St.George's cause", Gabriel said bravely.
"Foolish child. And what if you are a Schattenjager? You are mortal, and mortals have always been my creatures. Others of your blood have fallen to me. What of Gunter Ritter, who abandoned the light? Don't you know that the sins of the fathers are visited upon their sons?"
Gabriel faltered, feeling the persuasive voice undermine his resolution.
"It is useless to resist me, child. Have you not felt the beast clawing itself outward from within you? You were born to serve me, not the light. To seek the shadows, to live in them, not hunt them."
Gabriel lowered his arm, doubts assailing him.
"Come, join me," the compelling voice prompted. "I will give you gifts beyond belief. Think of the future I can offer you! Think of the power, the knowledge! Give in to me, and you may have anything; wealth, beauty, eternal life; any woman you want, I can give you. Every fleeting whim, I will grant you: fame, fortune, whatever you wish."
Gabriel hesitated, looking down at the empty hilt in his hand. How could he fight this invincible creature anyway? He was no St.George, no hero.
No, Gabriel! Don't listen to him. Believe in yourself. You are a Schattenjager! The urgent words rang in his thoughts, as if someone were speaking them directly into his mind. A flood of memories rushed through his thoughts. Last of all, the remembered glory of a shaft of light pouring into a dim chapel filled his head, steadying his wavering resolution. Gathering himself, he straightened up with desperate courage.
"I am a Schattenjager," he repeated quietly, and took a firm grip on the hilt of the sword. "I swore the Oath, and I'll keep it. Sorry, Samael, or whatever you call yourself, no deal."
"Fool!" Samael thundered, his form beginning to alter. It flowed up and out, expanding into a titanic new reality. The monstrous shape that now confronted Gabriel was the Dragon that had haunted his dreams. "Alone, do you hope to defeat Me? Look on Me and despair, weak and senseless mortal! Dare you stand against My will, puny thing? I AM INVINCIBLE!"
"That you are not, Father of Lies. Nor does he stand alone," a new voice interrupted. A bright, spectral form appeared next to Gabriel, so bright that he had to squint to look at it. The shape was human, a tall armored man.
"YOU!" roared the great Serpent. "IT CANNOT BE!"
"It can be, and it is." More ghostly, glowing shapes appeared, crowding the chamber. "All of us stand with him, we who are sworn to fight you, in life and in death. He does not stand alone," the deep, oddly hollow voice repeated, echoing weirdly as if across a great distance.
Gabriel, astonished, looked around him at the resplendent, insubstantial forms around him. On his left, a familiar face smiled at him. Wolfgang? Gabriel asked silently. Pride and amazed gratitude swelled in him, along with a deep, overwhelming joy.
"Advance, Champion," the armored apparition said to him. Filled with calm certainty, Gabriel knew what he must do.
Raising Ascalon, he stepped forward. The sword flared to life, a blade of light and fire materialising out of the emptiness at the hilt. Brilliant as the sun it shone, bright as truth and courage, bright with fierce and righteous purpose.
Afterward, Gabriel would not know quite how he managed to dodge the Dragon's snapping jaws, how he ducked the sweeps of its massive tail; but he did. He ran past the Serpent, past the bloody altar, to thrust the essence of Light into the huge mirror that was the source of the Darkness.
The Serpent shrieked in indescribable, unearthly agony. Its flesh began to putrefy and dissolve. Again, it changed, uncontrollably shifting shape as the sum of all the misery of creation appeared and disappeared in its metamorphosing visage. Millions of years of despair, of unspeakable horror were reflected there, the price paid by the Prince of Darkness for his power.
At last, the unbearable scream died into a mere thread of mournful sound, and the great hulking shape of the dragon was gone. The mirror shattered, all at once, with a small, tinkling sound. Tiny fragments smoked and vanished into thin air, as if they had never been.
Gabriel looked around and found that the ghosts had gone as well, all except for one faintly glowing shape that raised a hand in benediction and farewell, before it too, disappeared.
"Gracie!" he exclaimed, running to her and raising her anxiously to her feet.
"I'm all right, Gabriel," she reassured him. "What about this lot?"
She pointed to the few trembling Cult members that remained, cowering in the corners. Gabriel threw back the hood of the nearest one and saw the blank, unseeing face of the blond man Laroche had called 'Alain'.
"I don't think they're going to give us any trouble," he said.
Together, they shepherded the dazed, uncomprehending cultists out of the chamber into the mine shaft. Gabriel supported the feeble old man who had been Lucien Laroche. He seemed completely unaware of his surroundings. Suddenly, the walls began to shake ominously around them.
"Let's get out of here!" Grace exclaimed, breaking into a run.
They all started running, even the cult followers needing no urging as sections of roof started falling around them. Desperately scrambling over, under or around the rocks and rubble in their way, the motley group raced for the exit. They ran straight into the group of policemen led by Commissaire Dernaud.
"There you are! We lost your signal when you went into the tunnel. It took us a hell of a long time to find the entrance," the Commissaire explained. Then, looking around, he asked, "Where's Laroche?"
Gabriel and Grace looked wordlessly at the aged husk of a man who was all that remained of the famous and successful violinist. Dernaud gave the old man a curious look, and then did a sharp double take when he noticed the green eyes in the wrinkled face. Another quake shook the tunnel.
"We'll explain later," Grace said quickly, as a crevasse opened in the ground just behind them. "Let's move!"
In wordless agreement, the policemen turned to comply. The old man came suddenly to life. With unexpected strength, he wrenched free of Gabriel's grip and backed away.
Dernaud and Grace were the only ones who noticed, and stopped to wait for Gabriel.
"Please..." the old man whispered in a cracked voice, as Gabriel stepped toward him, halting the younger man in his tracks. With a long sigh, Laroche stepped over the edge, falling silently into the fathomless darkness below.
Exchanging a wordless look, the three witnesses to the end of the Slasher of Gisors turned to race out toward safety.
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